


Just One Chance

by 852_Prospect_Archivist



Category: The Sentinel
Genre: AU, Alternate Universes, First Times, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-05-10
Updated: 2013-05-10
Packaged: 2017-12-11 00:07:07
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,184
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/791749
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/852_Prospect_Archivist/pseuds/852_Prospect_Archivist
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>An anthropology professor meets a police detective on a basketball court and picks up more than just a game.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Just One Chance

**Author's Note:**

> I was supposed to be finishing up some things left lingering on my hard drive, so that I can move on to other projects with a clear conscience, but evidently J/B want me to sweep up the leftovers in the corners of my brain, too, so I decided to be obedient for now.

## Just One Chance

by JC

Author's webpage: [http://www.skeeter63.org/jayci ](http://www.skeeter63.org/jayci)

Author's disclaimer: The characters from the TV series "The Sentinel" are not my property, and I am not making money off of them. That's all I have to say.

* * *

Just One Chance by J.C. 

Dripping with sweat, Blair Sandburg leaned over, hands on his knees, huffing out deep breaths. 'Gotta get more exercise, Sandburg,' he advised himself. Once he was breathing more normally, he walked to the sidelines, congratulating his teammates with high-fives and backslapping along the way, smiling indulgently at the comments of 'Nice shot, Shorty.' He grabbed the tee-shirt that he had left hanging through the chain link fence surrounding the basketball courts, and took off his soaked tanktop, using that to wipe his face. After putting on the dry shirt, he let his hair loose, holding his face up to the sun. Clear blue skies, he marveled, even Cascade has to give in to spring perfection sometimes, though he was sure it would be raining by the weekend. Retying his hair, he looked around at the other games that were going on, and noticed startlingly clear blue eyes staring at him. 

It was one of the players that had been on the opposing team...mean outside shot and a serious game face. But a body to die for, Blair added, his gaze roaming over the bare chest. Trying not to seem obvious, he sneaked peeks until the guy turned away to put on a basketball jersey that had been lying on the bench next to him. As he was saying goodbye to the friend who had convinced him to come and play, Blair saw the guy give him another glance, and he got a spine-tingling thrill, the likes of which he hadn't felt in quite a while. Jamal shrugged when Blair questioned him, saying only that the man was a semi-regular at the courts, who played hard, but didn't talk much. On the way to his car, Blair's curiosity got the best of him, and he made a slight detour. 

"You got game," he said, appreciating his view of the man bending over. 

The man finished tying his shoe and removed his foot from the bench with an amused expression on his face, looking Blair up and down. "Thanks. So do you, Chief." 

"I know a place that makes great algae shakes. Wanna join me?" 

Frowning a bit, the man answered, "I'm not into algae." 

"Hey, don't knock it 'til you've tried it," Blair quipped, waggling his eyebrows a few times for effect. His smile faded, though, when Jim didn't smile back. "But...if you're not interested..." 

"If you mean what I think you mean, I'm, uh, sorry, but I'm in a relationship." 

"Oh, hey, cool. My fault. You just..." Blair stopped, clearing his throat. "Well, good game out there. Maybe we can play again sometime." He walked away before he could do something stupid like blush. 

"I'm usually here Wednesday nights and Saturday mornings when I have the time," he heard from behind him. 

He turned around, gave a little nod of acknowledgment, and held in his grin until he got to his car. 

~~~ 

Over the next months, Blair did get to play again with the person who he learned was Jim Ellison, detective with the Cascade Police Department. Though Jim's schedule was often unpredictable, he managed to make it a few Wednesday nights, and Blair found himself getting up at six in the morning because Jim was more likely to show up for an early game at seven on Saturdays. 

At least, he thought, the workouts were doing him good. The downside to the job he loved at Rainier University was that in recent times he had been spending entirely too much time behind a desk, teaching all day, reading at night, and it had started to show. The other pleasant side effect to the games was that they had spawned a friendship of sorts with Jim. They both had started going out to a neighborhood diner from time to time with a couple of the regular players. That had segued into the two of them doing the same alone, and every now and then, Jim had even accepted an invitation to watch a movie at Blair's converted-warehouse apartment. 

Blair grinned, remembering the look on Jim's face the first time Jim had seen the size of the place, and the even more stunned expression when he had explained how he had gotten a deal from a grateful landlord by tipping the cops to a drug lab next door, particularly after the police had said the place could have blown up at anytime. When the neighborhood had later gone through an urban renewal phase, the warehouses had been done over into rather trendy, upscale condos. With some finagling, Blair had managed to keep his original space, renting with an option to buy, which he immediately took once he had secured the permanent teaching position with the university. 

He loved the place, loved being there with Jim even more. It had been hard fighting the attraction, especially since he knew that Jim was attracted to him, too. No way had he misread those signals, but Jim was involved with some doctor, Ross Parker, and Blair decided he could do without getting entangled in any sort of love triangle. Though, admittedly, he had come close to changing his mind when he realized that what he felt for Jim had gone beyond simply friendship and lust. But, with determination, he made himself enjoy what they had, and not expect anything more. 

Of course, that didn't stop him from getting a kick out of knowing that Ross was away for a week and Jim had asked could he come over just to hang out, a request that Blair had eagerly granted. He kept telling himself that it wasn't a date, despite the meal he had prepared hoping Jim would be impressed, and the time he had spent on his hair and clothes trying to look good, but as if he hadn't done anything special. When Jim finally knocked at the door, Blair had a stomach full of butterflies, but his nervousness disappeared once he got a look at Jim's face. 

"Hi...um...you don't look so good. You okay?" 

"Rough week, and I've been fighting a...migraine all day," Jim replied, sounding worn out. 

"Well, come in, take a load off. Maybe you should have stayed home." 

"I'll be okay, but I think I'll rest my eyes for a minute." 

But as the night wore on, Jim didn't get any better. Blair had made him some tea, but Jim couldn't handle even just a sip. He had turned the lights off when Jim complained of the brightness, but candles hadn't worked because the smell, though pleasant, seemed to make Jim worse. The tape Blair had playing, one of his favorite meditative selections, music guaranteed to relax anyone, made Jim cringe, as if each note was causing physical pain, even when Blair turned the volume very low. 

"Jim," he finally said in desperation, "this is bad, don't you have some medicine you should be taking?" 

"I have...pills," Jim croaked. "Pain caught me by surprise this morning, and I dropped the last in the toilet." 

Careful to keep his voice calm, Blair said, "Well, who's your doctor? I'll have him call in a refill. I'll go get it, no problem." 

"No...Ross does it for me. I'll contact him later. I've been through this...it'll pass." 

So, helplessly, Blair just sat with him, pretending that he wasn't frightened by Jim's state. The strain was so evident as Jim held on, obviously trying not to cry out, that Blair took a chance, touching the side of his face. Thankfully, Jim seemed to respond to his touch, and he used his fingers to lightly massage Jim's temples, whispering words meant to soothe and comfort. They sat that way for a long time, while ugly possibilities ran through Blair's head, until finally Jim's trembling ceased, and his breathless moans quieted. Blair had thought Jim had dozed off, but when he tried to move away, Jim made a murmur of protest, taking a little more time before opening his eyes and asking for a glass of water. 

"Is there anything I should know, Jim?" Blair asked, when Jim had drained the glass. 

"What do you mean?" 

"This episode. You say it was a migraine?" 

"Yeah." 

"And these...pills you take, what are they?" 

"Just medicine that helps my headaches." 

"And it's being supplied by your doctor boyfriend? Are you sure the pills aren't the problem, because, forgive me if I'm way off base, Jim, but this whole thing seemed a lot like some kind of drug withdrawal. And I think you need some help." 

"I'm fine, really. I'm not _addicted_ or anything. I have a little problem and Ross just helps me out off the record." 

"Right...like a drug dealer. I don't like this kind of shit, Jim. For fuck's sake, how are you managing your job like this?" 

With a heavy sigh, Jim hid his face in his hands. "I work alone, and I'm known to be somewhat...peculiar in my ways. But, I'm as careful as I can be. These...episodes come and go, but I'm a good cop, and with the pills, I can do my job. But it's not what you're thinking," he added, finally looking over at Blair. "It's a problem that's plagued me for years. Ever since I was in the army, and came back from a failed combat mission in Peru. I've had every test there is run on me _twice_ , and there's no physical reason for it. They thought it was some sort of post-traumatic stress thing. It seemed to go away for a while, but, a few years ago, during this high-profile bombing case, I...I almost lost it. I had met Ross at Cascade General, and we had sort of been seeing each other, and when I told him about my condition, he got something for me to try to lessen the symptoms...unofficially, so that it doesn't show up in my jacket." 

"So, if it's not migraines, what are we talking about here?" 

"I started seeing things I couldn't possibly see, imagining voices, being overwhelmed by smells no one else noticed. Sometimes even food would be too...much or either have no taste at all. Crazy stuff like that." 

Blair had gone still, sure that what he was hearing couldn't possibly mean what he was thinking, but a million questions flew into his head. "What about your tactile awareness?" 

"What?" 

"Is your skin extra sensitive to outside stimulation like clothing or...touching?" 

Even by moonlight, Blair could see Jim blush. "Not often, but sometimes, why?" 

"And what about lost time? Ever seem to black out or fade away when you're having these visions or hearing voices?" 

"Yeah, but not since I've been taking the pills. I told you I have it under control." 

By that time, Blair was pacing, making a circuitous route in his spacious living room. "Oh, man, Jim. Maybe you better sit down for this." 

"I _am_ sitting, Chief, but _you're_ making me dizzy." 

"I know what's going on with you, at least I'm pretty sure I do, and drugs are _so_ not the answer." 

"What are you talking about? I already know..." 

"Okay, just listen. This might sound a little wild, but it makes perfect sense. And trust me, it's _way_ better than what you've been taking meds for." 

An hour and a half later, Blair had filled Jim in on what he referred to as Sentinels: people genetically gifted with five heightened senses. According to his sources, most notably a monograph by the explorer Sir Richard Burton, Blair told him, in more primitive times, Sentinels had been 'watchmen' using their advantage for the good of the tribe. He explained that he had done research for the purposes of a long-abandoned dissertation into the phenomenon, but had only ever turned up subjects with one or two heightened senses. But, in the course of his studies, and out of deep love for the topic, he had notebooks filled with theories and tests and possibilities. 

"I can't claim to have actually done this, not on this scale anyway, but I have _tons_ of ideas," he muttered distractedly, while thumbing through one of the notebooks that he had dug up from the box under his bed. "But, let's just try something. Wait," he said, finally settling down, "are you with me on this, Jim? I mean, I know this might seem like it's from out of left field, but I think I can help." 

"It's better than being mentally unbalanced," Jim joked, weakly. 

"Definitely. So, here's what we'll do. First, we'll start by getting you in touch with yourself...meditation and relaxation exercises, tuning you into your body. Then we'll get down to the good stuff." 

Blair decided they should work in Jim's home environment, so they packed up the books, notes, tapes, and other sundry supplies that Blair wanted and moved across town to Jim's loft apartment. It was surprisingly empty for someone who had lived there for years, but Blair looked at it as a good base of operations...a clean, relatively distraction-free place to fine-tune Jim's senses. He convinced Jim to give him one uninterrupted week to start, taking full advantage of Ross' absence, and though Jim refused to call in sick, after a call to his captain, several of his seldom used vacation days were utilized. 

To Blair's satisfaction, they made reasonable progress in a short time. Truthfully, Blair had expected more resistance on Jim's part, but each small victory achieved seemed to convince Jim that Blair did indeed have sound ideas on the subject. Not that it was totally peaceful. Jim preferred the actual process of learning to control each sense, as opposed to the obligatory lessons in 'centering' himself. He complained about what he considered the 'inactive' activity of 'mumbo-jumbo chanting and humming', even though some of the major strides he made, Blair insisted were due to him learning to let his mind and body act as one. But then, when Blair was totally focused on the sensory tests themselves, Jim grumbled that Blair was intent on working him to death. Blair quickly learned which growls he could ignore, and which glares meant to let Jim eat dinner. 

There was little doubt as to how excited Blair was about the whole situation. He couldn't think of anything better than having the living embodiment of his wildest dreams fall right into his lap...unless it was that that person was Jim, and working on Jim's problems had created a stronger bond between them, adding another dimension to their relationship that Blair treasured. But, it had also added a physical layer that sometimes made it more difficult to cope with his continual attraction. They had found that Jim responded almost instinctively to Blair's touch, or a combination of his hands and voice. More than once, they had used it as a quick fix, while Jim struggled to master singling out his senses and control them instead of letting them control him. After only five days, they still had a long way to go, but both men were pleased with their accomplishments. 

On the morning of the sixth day, Jim's cell phone rang. "I'd better get that, Chief. I told Simon he could call if something came up and he needed me." 

Blair, though, had a sick feeling that it wasn't Captain Banks at all, and listened with disappointment to Jim's end of the conversation. 

"You're back. How was it...? I'm fine. Good, actually. In fact, I've got great news. I'll tell you when I see you.... Uh, sure, I can do that.... Okay, I'll stop and get Thai.... Bye." As he put the phone down, he asked Blair, "You don't mind if I drop you back at your place, do you? So I can meet Ross for dinner? You're probably dying to get out of here, anyway, right? I mean, the last few weeks you have for summer break and you spend a week cooped up here with me." 

"Are you kidding? You're like a dream come true for me. Um, you know...being able to use some of that stuff I'd spent years researching." Blair turned away, hiding his face, which was red from embarrassment, and busied himself gathering his belongings. "But, do me a favor, Jim, keep the senses thing under wraps for now. Just tell Ross that you found some alternative methods to handle your...condition." 

"Why?" 

"We still have lots to do. Just until you have it all worked out, okay?" he insisted, not mentioning that he selfishly wanted to keep that part of Jim to himself for a little while longer...or that he just didn't trust Ross Parker. 

"Whatever you say. You're in charge." At the door, Jim hugged him. "Thanks for everything, Chief." 

Blair returned the hug, soaking up the contact. Pulling away first, he said, "We're not done yet, Ellison. You go have your night off, but we're going to work out a schedule for when you're back on the job, and you're going to keep track of everything, and I mean _everything_ that I tell you." 

He was still babbling when Jim pushed him out the door, and he smothered his discontent with chatter all the way home. 

Later that night, as he fell asleep in his own bed, instead of on Jim's couch, he remembered the feel of Jim's arms around him, and tried not to think about what Jim and Ross might be doing at that moment. 

~~~ 

Jim was shooting baskets when Blair walked onto their usual court a few weeks later. A small crowd had gathered around, and they were all watching Jim make shot after shot with almost unwavering accuracy. The group was cheering him on, and Blair guessed that there was probably some betting on the side. But, the look on Jim's face put him instantly on alert. Jim was grim, focused, and tense as he took aim, released, and then caught the ball from whoever tossed it back to him, only to do it over again. It wasn't the face of a man enjoying himself; it was more the face of a man on the edge. Nodding to those that he recognized, Blair went to stand next to Jim. 

"You've got some serious concentration going there, Jim. Wanna tell me what's wrong?" 

Jim stood stiffly, holding the ball between his hands, his fingertips squeezing it in time to the muscle throbbing visibly in his jaw. "Just figured out there's a definite downside to this senses thing," he gritted out. 

Trying not to panic, Blair led Jim off the court to one of the benches on the side, ignoring the grumbles of displeasure that the show was over. "What happened? You having zone-outs again? Sensory spikes?" 

"Nothing like that," Jim said, letting the ball drop from his fingers. "Nothing you can fix, Professor. I just didn't think about what that extra awareness could mean." He stood next to the bench, looking through the fence at the small park that was adjacent to the basketball courts. "Ross is fucking around on me." With a harsh chuckle, he added, "I could... _smell_ it on him. I confronted him, and, of course, he denied it. I didn't stick around long enough to hear more lies. Couldn't face what other evidence I might sense. I don't even want to know how many times he was supposedly working late at the hospital, but was really with somebody else." 

"Shit, Jim, I'm sorry. Come on; come back to my place. We'll relax...watch Mannix reruns or something." 

"No, I think I'll go ahead home. I just needed to, you know, work off some steam." 

"Okay, well, we can work it off together," Blair said. "I mean a little one-on-one," he added at Jim's expression. " _Basketball_ ," he clarified, when Jim raised his eyebrows. 

"I think I've shot enough for one night." Jim picked up his basketball, passed it back and forth between his hands a few times. "But, um...you feel like taking a ride?" 

Knowing that there was no double meaning to Jim's words, Blair stifled his instinct to make a joke. "Sure, where?" 

"You'll see. Let's go." 

They drove through Cascade to the outskirts, turning onto an almost eerily quiet road, stopping at a spot that looked over the city. The sun was setting and it was a breathtaking view. 

"Wow." 

"Yeah," Jim said, "privilege of the privileged. I grew up back there." He pointed up the road to a cluster of nice houses that made a picture-perfect community. "I used to come here to think sometimes and get away from my old man." 

They got out and sat on the hood of Jim's truck, leaning back to appreciate the sight before them. 

"You know, I can make out my building from here." 

"Really? Cool. What else?" 

Jim pointed out several landmarks, and Blair relaxed, not looking at what _he_ wouldn't be able to see clearly anyway, but just enjoying the sound of Jim's voice and the time they were spending together, and, admittedly, feeling very happy about the turn of events between Ross and Jim, though he was sorry that Jim had gotten hurt. A few minutes later, he remembered that it was bad karma to get joy from someone else's misfortune, because Jim's phone rang, the sudden trilling cutting Jim off in mid-sentence. 

"Yeah, Ellison... What do you want?" Jim turned slightly away from Blair. "Look.... It doesn't.... I know.... I wish I could believe that.... I know, but I don't need.... Ross, this isn't...." With a sigh, Jim ended the call, saying, "Okay, okay. I'll, um, see you in a few," before hanging up and facing Blair again. 

"I know...party's over," Blair said, keeping his voice neutral and making no comments about Ross Parker. 

"I'll take you back to your car." 

They rode back to the courts in an uncomfortable silence that Blair hated. "Are we still hooking up tomorrow to do those taste tests?" 

"Of course." 

"Okay. I'd like to go over your notes, too, show you some things I think you could use in your work." He got out of Jim's truck, and unlocked his car door. "Take care, man," he said, before getting in. 

Jim nodded and drove off...towards Ross...leaving Blair to go home alone to his large, but empty apartment. 

~~~ 

True to his word, Jim continued his work with Blair, paying diligent attention to perfecting control over his senses and incorporating their safe usage into his police work. And, they still managed to fit in some ball playing, moving the games to indoor courts when the weather got too cold, along with renting the occasional movie together, ordering take-out to eat while they watched. But, to Blair's disappointment, Jim always left to go to Ross', sticking it out despite the trouble they'd had, and the continued flare-ups that were sometimes hinted at, but never discussed. 

Soon, though, Blair began to notice that Jim was looking increasingly...worn-down. Jim assured Blair that it wasn't due to any trouble with his senses, and he always passed when Blair put him through his paces. But, Blair didn't believe Jim's claim that his increasing bad moods were due to a string of tough cases. There was no doubt in Blair's mind as to the true cause, and one night, as Jim was leaving the warehouse apartment, Blair stopped him at the door. 

"I probably shouldn't say anything, but you look like shit, Jim, and I just can't keep quiet anymore. You don't look like you're sleeping well, and I don't think you're eating much either, at least, you don't when you're with me. You have to take care of yourself, your state of mind can affect how well you handle your senses." He took a deep breath, and mentally gave himself a push. "This stuff going on with you and Ross... your walking out on him and always going back... it needs to stop.... Let him go, Jim. I know you know how I feel about you, right? You and me...it could be so much better." 

"Damn it, Chief. Don't do this..." 

"Jim, please...think about it. Something's got to give, before you lose it altogether." 

"You're right. I don't think...I don't think we should hang out anymore." 

Blair could feel the blood rush from his face, leaving him almost dizzy from shock. "What? No, look, don't say that. I don't want to lose your friendship, and the work we're doing is going so well." 

"Thank you for that. You've been the best friend, but..." 

"Yeah, fine, I see." Taking another deep breath, Blair straightened up, looking Jim right in the eye. "Later, Jim." 

With a nod, Jim opened the door to leave, but Blair grabbed his arm. 

"If you start having problems with your senses, _please_ call me. Don't fuck around with that. I'll always help you. No strings." 

Jim nodded again, patting the hand still holding his arm, and walked out. 

Alone, Blair banged his head on the closed door three good times, punctuating each knock with a heartfelt, 'Fuck!'. Shaking it off, he settled down to write the exam he would have to give soon. There's always some work to do, he thought, I won't even have time to miss Jim. But, his mind kept wandering and he wondered what kind of idiot he was for imagining what it would have been like to kiss Jim just one time. 

~~~ 

The next several months passed without incident...at least, it seemed, as far as Jim was concerned. No visits, and only two phone calls, which in a way, Blair decided, was a good thing. It meant that Jim was doing well enough on his own--the best-case scenario for a man who carried a loaded weapon on a daily basis. 

For himself, Blair had been dating with a vengeance. In rare moments alone, he admitted it had really come down to just screwing anything that moved, male or female, going through the motions, giving his dick a workout, and keeping his heart firmly out of the way. 'Equal Opportunity Sandburg' was back in action, though resolutely keeping his 'action' off-campus. After all, he was no longer a horny grad student, he was a professor, idiot or not, with a job to protect. 

Then, Nia Reed walked back into his life. In his undergrad days, he had had a serious crush on her, but she hadn't been interested. Not because he had been too young, or too short, or too geeky, but, as he later found out, she hadn't been interested in _any_ body. Her studies had always come first, and she left little or no time for socializing. Share obscure facts with her about a tribe in the Amazon, and she was all over it, but pay her compliments using your best flirtation techniques and they fell on deaf ears. She had left Rainier after graduation, to pursue her grad studies elsewhere, and, over the years, she had made a name for herself in the world of anthropology. 

Blair had been pleased when Nia showed up at Rainier as a guest lecturer, and surprised to see how she had...blossomed into a gorgeous woman who hadn't lost her passion for her field, but had gained a passion for...other things as well. He had accepted her invitation to dinner expecting nothing more than reminiscing about their college days and trading stories about what they'd both been up to, but dinner had turned out to be room service after a rousing round of the old 'bump 'n grind' in her hotel room, and he'd been with her most nights since. Word was that she might be in line to turn her lecture series into a special course that would become a permanent part of the curriculum, and Blair found himself excited by that idea, and not a little apprehensive. When Nia left to finish out her lecture tour, he missed her, feeling emotions that he thought he had left behind with you-know-who. She ended up flying back between some of her talks, and he found himself looking forward to both her visits and their frequent long-distance phone calls. 

One cold night, when winter was stubbornly refusing to give way to spring, Blair went for a drive, missing Nia, but thinking about Jim. Foolish, he thought, to end up at what he saw as 'their' basketball court, especially since he didn't remember anything of the trip there. He was shocked to see a familiar figure sitting alone on one of the benches, and though he told himself to drive on past and not intrude on Jim's privacy, the pull was too strong, and, before he knew it, he was parked and out of the car. He walked slowly across the court, but Jim didn't look his way until he had closed the distance. 

"Hey." 

"Hey, Chief." 

"What are you doing out here?" they both asked at the same time, words trailing off into nervous laughter. 

"It's good to see you, man." 

"You too," Jim replied softly, sliding over on the bench in silent invitation. 

Blair sat down, close enough so that their coats were touching, and for a while they said nothing more, just listened to the sounds of the city at night. It was Blair who finally broke the silence. 

"So...how are things?" 

"Good. No problems, really. None I haven't been able to handle, anyway." 

Biting back a comment about how Jim was supposed to have called him for _any_ problem, Blair asked the question foremost on his mind. "And...um...the good doctor?" 

"Moved his practice on to someone else, I guess. We split up a few months ago." 

Chest tight, afraid to even turn his head, Blair said, "Oh. Sorry." 

"Don't be. It was long overdue, I think." 

"Well, I'm sorry for...uh...crossing the line that time. I just couldn't stand seeing you so miserable." 

"It was because of you, you know." 

"What?" Blair asked, finally looking Jim's way. 

"Why I looked like hell, couldn't eat, couldn't sleep. It didn't have anything to do with Ross...except the guilt I felt for falling in love with you while I was still with him. Especially after the times I jumped on him about trust and fidelity. I hated the idea of just throwing away all the years we had been together, and I felt like I wasn't even giving him a chance to make it up, because my heart wasn't in it. But, even when I stopped seeing you, it wasn't working. We still had problems, and for every good day, there were ten bad ones. Finally, enough was enough, and that was that." 

"Oh, man, Jim." Blair reached out, cupping the back of Jim's neck with his hand, his fingertips ruffling the short hairs above Jim's nape, warming when Jim sort of leaned into the caress. "Why didn't you call me? Come see me?" 

"Well, um, I did come by...once. But you were...uh...busy." Jim shrugged a little, and Blair's hand fell away. "So, it seemed like the wrong time to drop this shit on you." 

Shaken, Blair whispered, "Nia!", suddenly remembering her and the start of something that so recently had felt so wonderful. "Jim, I'm sorry." 

"Stop apologizing for real life, Chief. That's how things go sometimes." 

"No, no, no. We can--" 

"No, we can't. I shouldn't be getting into anything, anyway. After Ross, well, I probably need this time to be by myself, find my way. I feel like a different person now, not that same man trying to hold on to his sanity that I was when I met Ross. I owe that to you, and I don't want you fucking up what you have with someone just because I came to some realizations late in the game." 

Jim stood up, obviously calling an end to the discussion, and Blair felt as if he'd been kicked where it would hurt most. How could he have had everything he'd wished for there in front of him, only to have it snatched away almost in the same instant? How could Jim not even want to talk about it? "Can we at least be friends again?" he asked, hating the pathetic desperation that he heard in his voice. 

"We'll always be friends, Chief." 

"You know what I mean. A movie now and then, or..." 

"I'll call you," Jim said, turning and walking away. At the other side of the court, he turned back for a moment. "Don't stay out here too long. It's getting colder." 

Blair sat in the dark, indeed feeling much colder, but unable to move until long after Jim had driven away. 

~~~ 

"Come in," Blair said, answering the knock on his office door, absently reaching out and turning his music down a little, while he finished up the paragraph he was reading. When he saw who had entered, he lurched to his feet hard enough to send his chair skittering backwards. "Jim..." He tried to get himself together, wipe the surprise from the face, clear the squeak from his voice. It was the first time that they had seen each other or spoken since that night at the basketball court. "What's going on?" 

"I...uh...have tickets for the Jags playoff game. Good seats." 

"No shit? How'd you swing that?" 

His mouth twisting into a wry smile, Jim answered, "Let's just say that I owe Simon big-time." 

Blair nodded, determined to play it cool, only to have his mouth betray him. "You never called..." 

Jim shrugged. "I didn't know what to say." 

"But now you just show up and want to go to a basketball game?" 

"You said... I thought... So, you don't want to go?" 

Blair walked around his desk towards Jim, thinking that he couldn't afford to play it cool anymore, there had to be a better way. "That depends..." Jim stepped back a bit, but Blair kept moving forwards. "Is this just two friends hanging out together at a game? Or is it a...date?" 

Blair had Jim backed into a corner, literally, creeping forward until Jim was wedged between him and the closed office door. "What about you and...?" 

"Nia and I are no longer involved, and currently she's the visiting professor at a prestigious university abroad," Blair said, dismissing that subject. "So, do we have a date?" 

"Blair, I'm not sure that it's..." 

" _Jim_ , I've waited for this for a long time, and there's nothing I can do about what happened before because of you and Ross or me and Nia, but if I have just one chance now to make something happen between _us_ , then I want it. What do you want, Jim?" 

He had Jim by the arms, pushing him a little, and Jim surprised him by countering with a passionate kiss. Blair could remember the only time that he'd ever come from just a kiss... Freshman year, Penny Springfield, by the door in her dorm room... He'd learned a lot about control since then, but yet, fifteen years later, kissing Jim Ellison against another door, all he could do was shudder and moan as he climaxed inside his pants, his tongue busy inside Jim's mouth. And he was too blissed-out to even be embarrassed about it, just grinned stupidly up at Jim when the kiss was over. 

"I'll take that to mean that we're finally both in the same game." Shifting uncomfortably, he made a face. "Of course, now I'm going to need to change before I can go out anywhere." 

"Yeah," Jim said, wrinkling his nose, "I can...you know." 

Blair's eyes went wide for a second. "Oh shit, this is going to take some getting used to." 

Face coloring a little, Jim said, "I don't...I won't invade your privacy, Chief, not what I can help, anyway." 

Smiling, Blair said, "No, I mean in general, with showers and shaving and stuff so I don't grate on your senses." 

"I like the way you smell," Jim growled softly, nuzzling behind Blair's ear, "the way you feel," rubbing his cheek along Blair's jaw. "Can't wait to get a taste," he added, sending teasing fingers over Blair's groin. 

Blair forced himself to step back, even though his heart was pounding excitedly. "Right...well...I better get home and clean up and get dressed. I've got a first date with some guy tonight, and I have the feeling that he's the type who likes to be on time." He picked up his briefcase, holding it strategically in front of him. 

"I hope he turns out to be somebody worth the effort, Chief." 

Blair motioned Jim out into the hall. "He already has, Jim," he said as he locked his office door. "He already has." 

~end~ 


End file.
